


Tilt Your Head and Turn It To the Sun

by Charm



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Pie, Schmoop, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 12:57:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6705343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charm/pseuds/Charm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'You can't make pie.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tilt Your Head and Turn It To the Sun

'Yeah, so we're not having pie.' Jensen looks up from the mess of what his mother's recipe had assured him would be dough and sighs.

'No?' Jared says, too busy with the turkey baster to really be paying attention.

'No.' Jensen makes to toss the clump of evil into the trash before he can do any more damage when one of Jared's huge hands slides over his.

'Wait, lemme see if I can fix it.'

'You can't make pie,' Jensen says, tempted to slap his hand away.

'Sure I can, used to make it with my momma all the time.' Jared doesn't elaborate further, just dips into the dough, fingers light and careful, barely touching it at all, hands snaking out intermittently to throw down some flour, sprinkle a little ice water.

'I hate you so much right now.' If the dough wasn't coming together perfectly in front of his eyes, Jensen would maybe kick him. Just on principle.

Jared just laughs, dusting his hands off after a minute, and pointedly tugs Jensen's hands back to the board in front of them before escaping back to the other side of the kitchen and his damn turkey.

'If you throw it in a plastic bag and stick it in the fridge we can roll it out in an hour,' Jared says, tucking the foil back around the bird and closing the oven. He moves to stand behind Jensen, slides palms close and warm against Jensen's hips, head ducked down so his nose is pressed into his hair and Jensen feels warmth wash over him so completely he's a little dizzy with it. Tells himself it's just the heat of the kitchen, of a million different things cooking at once.

He'd been so sure it would be a mistake, staying here for Thanksgiving. It didn't matter that technically they had to, Jensen had been tempted to catch a flight late last night just so he could wake up to the smell of home and tradition, of all the things he thought he needed for it to really be Thanksgiving.

Jared tosses the ball of (perfect) dough into the fridge to chill and Jensen leans against the center island, smirks happily when Jared leans into him, hands planted on either side of Jensen, and fits their hips together.

Jared's smile is warm against his neck, lips close and perfect against Jensen's pulse, and his house smells almost like home. He might even get pie out of the deal.

Jensen can admit when he's wrong.

 


End file.
